


Clear Blue Morning

by magniloquentChanteuse



Series: And the Day Turns to Night [4]
Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: And also has senses that get him into trouble, Everyone Loves Peter Parker, Fluff, Peter makes new friends, Those are the major themes of this one, series continuation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-08-08 08:53:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16426274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magniloquentChanteuse/pseuds/magniloquentChanteuse
Summary: Five Senses that Get Peter Into Trouble (And One That Doesn't)orFive Times Peter makes a New Friend (And One Time He Doesn't)





	1. Firefly

**Author's Note:**

> This is another part of the Day Turns To Night story! I think this one might actually be mostly comprehensible if you haven't read the previous parts, but I would still recommend it. Your call, though.

**February**

 

Peter swung his legs off the edge of the roof, smearing mayonnaise out of a packet onto his sandwich as he looked down over Manhattan. He spent more time here than he used to, he thought, pursing his lips. He really ought to head back to Queens more often, but there was just…  _ so much _ going on in Manhattan, it was hard to make it through the city without spotting one incident or another.

 

He had to figure out some kind of a solution for that. Some kind of a schedule or something. He could work on it later, he supposed. For now he had a sandwich to eat.

 

It was cloudy and dim, today, despite it being only mid afternoon, but that didn’t bother Peter much, now that Mr. Stark had taught him about the heating function in his suit. Winter was  _ much _ more pleasant this year. Especially, he thought with a kind of wistful smile, now that he had a real home to go back to again. It had been something of a rough start, but his talk with Mr. Stark last month had left him feeling a lot better.

 

Peter stuffed way more of the sandwich than Aunt May would have considered polite into his mouth as he watched the cars going by down below. Traffic jams were more common here, Peter had noticed, than they were in Queens. He wondered if it was because there were more people or if it was an inherit flaw of Manhattan. He smiled around the bread and turkey in his mouth as he realized that even in just thinking that, he was showing his bias. God, he loved this city, but Queens was… Queens would always be home to him, too, even if he did live in Stark Tower, now.

 

The back of Peter’s neck prickled and he lifted his gaze further out— something was happening. He heard the sirens before he spotted the flashing lights of the police cars as they zipped through a gap in the buildings. 

 

Time to get to work, he thought regretfully, looking down at his sandwich. He glanced back up again, then took one more hasty bite before wrapping the plastic back around it and setting it gingerly on the edge of the roof.

 

“I’ll come back for you,” He told it, giving it a comforting pat with one hand and tugging his mask back down with the other before sliding off the building and entering freefall.

 

He pointed his toes, arms going straight up above his head as he let the wind rush by him. Awesome, he thought fervently. Being Spider-Man was so awesome.

 

A web sprang out from his wrist on command, just as it always did, and then the twisting tug of inertia was on him , pulling him into a swing a  _ million _ times better than any a kid could hope to get on the playground.

 

Peter whooped, calling greetings to the New Yorkers down below who paused to point and shout. It wasn’t all friendly— public opinion was still pretty low after the Bugle had spent several months declaring that he was a child murderer, but the reappearance of Peter Parker and the testimony of the Chameleon had calmed the wild accusations from the Bugle and gotten the police off his tail all at once.

 

Peter’s heart warmed as he thought of everyone’s faces when Peter had reappeared in the Bugle office.

 

But that was a thought for another time, Peter decided as he whipped around the corner. He could see the cars, now, circled up outside of a squat two story building. A club, from the looks of it— some kind of stand-off? What could possibly be happening inside a club at this time of day? Surely there was no one but the criminals inside.

 

Peter dropped to his feet behind the line of police cars. “Officers,” He greeted the group nearby, startling several of them. “What seems to be the problem, here?” He hooked his thumbs in his belt and strutted over, letting that Spider-Man confidence wash over him.

 

“Bank robbery,” A woman answered, and Peter glanced down at her nametag. R. Diaz. “The suspects fled the scene and holed up in here. They’ve barricaded the doors and windows, and they’ve got guns.”

 

“Yeah?” Peter turned to examine the building critically. It didn’t look like the kind of building with access to the interior on the roof, which would normally be his go-to. “Okay. Well. I bet I can get in there.”

 

“Weren’t you listening?” Another cop— M. Reilley— growled, his graying mustache twitching as his lips curled with contempt. “They’re armed.”

 

“Yeah, I heard,” Peter agreed placidly, flashing the man a thumbs up. “I’m spider themed, though, so I’m probably more armed than they are. Aw, what? Come on, that was funny.” Peter frowned when none of them laughed. “ Well, either way, I’m pretty good at not getting shot, so don’t worry about me. I’ve only gotten shot like, one time, and I definitely learned from that mistake. Anyways, I’ll signal you guys when it’s safe to come in, alright?”

 

And with that he hopped over the hood of the police car and strolled right up to the door, rapping casually on the metal. “Hey in there, villains! It’s me, your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. Just wanted to give you a chance to go ahead and surrender. Totally understand if you hadn’t thought of that, but the option’s on the table for you, now. So what do you say? Want to turn yourselves in?”

 

Peter listened to the harsh whispers on the other side of the door, followed by the sound of a chorus of cocking guns. “Okay,” He drawled, dragging the word out. “I guess that counts as an answer. Don’t stress about it, though, I’m totally down to do this the hard way.” Having chosen to announce himself at the front door, Peter decided that it was best to find another method of entry.

 

Peter backed away from the door, paying special attention to his spider-sense, but no warnings came at him, yet, so he scanned across the face of the building. No windows on the ground level, but up higher there were a few small ones. Good. Barricaded, the policewoman had said. That shouldn’t be a problem. Heck, maybe he’d even take a couple of guys out with whatever it was blocking the window. 

 

“Thwip,” Peter smiled to himself, shooting two webs upwards, on either side of his chosen entry point, backing up to increase the tension in the lines before leaping upwards and tugging hard at both of the lines, sending himself flying directly towards the window.

 

The soles of his feet connected with the window, shattering the glass as his momentum plowed him straight through it, and immediately after, sending an upended couch flying. There were cries of panic, both from the first floor down below and the nearby mezzanine. 

 

Peter caught himself against the railing and took just a few seconds to take in what he could of his surroundings. It was dark, in here, he realized. They hadn’t turned on any of the lights, so all he could see was what was illuminated by the single unblocked window.

 

But then his time was up and he had to dart out of the circle of light in order to avoid getting shot. That was okay, Peter thought. Although he didn’t have any kind of improved night vision, he did have pretty great hearing  _ and _ his spidey sense. He wasn’t afraid to fight in the dark. It was inconvenient, sure, but he would fare better than the robbers, he was sure.

 

There were more bullets flying in his general direction, now, but his spidey sense still wasn’t going off: they weren’t close enough to hurt him, now that they couldn’t see him, either. Peter crept further into the darkness, leaving the dim light of the cloudy winter day behind him. 

 

“Alright, Spider-Man,” Someone called from down below, voice abrasive and angry and probably a little afraid. “You got one shot to get outta here. Just back down and we won’t hurt ya.”

 

“I don’t think so,” Peter called back, then grimaced at his own stupidity as he had to duck under several more shots. He couldn’t resist, though. “I’d offer you the same chance, but I literally already did that, so I feel like it would kind of be wasting all of our time.”

 

“Yeah,” The voice answered gruffly. “I think it would be.” 

 

Peter tuned in to the sound of running to his left: a staircase, from the sound of it. The thugs who had been up here on the second floor were going back down to join their teammates. Okay. That was fine.

 

In the pitch black, Peter found the railing over the first floor again and climbed up, perching on the edge as he tried to perceive the criminals down below, but he couldn’t see anything. He hadn’t even managed to pinpoint the direction the bullets had come from, Peter thought with a sigh.

 

Peter decided to trust his spider sense and leapt forward into the darkness of the open space above the first floor and even though he couldn’t see it, he could feel his body falling and only his instincts had him finding his feet against the ground instead of going sprawling. He  _ loved _ being Spider-Man. He could do so much cool stuff.

 

His landing hadn’t been loud, but it hadn’t been silent, either. Now there were guns going off again and Peter was dodging. They were spreading out around him, Peter realized as he listened to the gunshots, spraying web wildly into the dark. The net webbing managed to snag a few of them, from the sound of it, but not enough, and it wasn’t stopping them from shooting.

 

But Peter wasn’t stuck in place, either. He was able to chase the sounds of the guns, striking out with significantly less accuracy than usual, but still more than that of the shooters. He had managed to take down two of them when he heard the same voice from before.

 

“Alright, enough! Somebody hit the damn lights!”

 

_ Nice _ , Peter thought, spinning towards the voice, and then there was light.

 

“Aah!” Peter’s hands slapped over his eyes as the bright, flashing lights assaulted his eyes. Straining to see in the dark had made his already sensitive  eyes even more vulnerable to the light, Peter realized, and the flashing of the strobe— why had they turned on a  _ strobe—  _ was more than his eyes could take, so suddenly.

 

But now they could see him, and those blows were getting a lot more accurate.

 

Peter took a punch to the jaw before he managed to pull his hands away from his eyes in an attempt to retaliate. But he still couldn’t see, that light  _ hurt _ , and he was fighting blind— somehow  even moreso than before.

 

He was still following the direction of his spidey sense, but there was so much going on that it was basically all he could do. Duck, jump, left, duck, left, jump, right, forward. Someone whipped him across the small of his back with a gun and Peter stumbled, teeth gritting.

 

He couldn’t  _ see _ .

 

He managed to lay out another guy.  _ Probably _ laid him out, Peter amended the thought wryly. He heard him go down, but then he had to keep moving, so he wasn’t sure if he’d gotten back up again. How many of these guys were there? He wasn’t sure.

 

There was a roaring sound, then, followed by a crash, and Peter pried his eyes open as an alarmed cry went up around him. He winced against the somehow  _ brighter _ light as his eyes involuntarily closed again and Peter took the moment of the thieves’ distraction to leap upwards, sticking himself to the ceiling under the second floor balcony. Regroup, Peter coached himself. Regroup,  _ then _ find out what was going on.

 

He could smell smoke, and for a moment his adrenaline spiked, but there was no warning from his spidey sense. A million questions popped into his head, but they were answered as a vaguely familiar voice called out from the second floor.

 

“I’ll take it from here, Spider-Man!” It might have taken Peter longer to place who it was if it were’t for the smell of burning upholstry.

 

“Torch! Hey, great timing!” Peter called out, relief heavy on his shoulders as his fingers gripped the surface he was clinging to. “Can you do something about these lights?”

 

“I’ll do you one better,” Johnny called back, and there were more of those whooshes Peter was coming to realize were flame sounds. “I’ll do something about these criminals for you.”

 

“Don’t be a show-off,” Peter shouted over the ruckus. “Just break the strobe so I can help!”

 

“I didn’t hear a please,” Johnny answered, voice taunting, but there was the sound of shattering glass and the flashing light behind Peter’s eyelids stopped.

 

It was  _ much _ easier to fight in the glow of Johnny Storm’s flames than it was under a blinding strobe light. They finished off the robbers— seven of them, Peter discovered— in just a few minutes.

 

The lights flicked on as Peter webbed up the last of the crooks and he turned to find Johnny standing by a door that apparently led into a back room, flames dying down around him, with a wide grin on his face.

 

“Well,” Johnny’s strut was every bit as self confident as Spider-Man’s, Peter noticed with interest. “Fancy meeting you here, Web-Head.”

 

“Yeah, no kidding,” Peter crossed his arms. “I’m surprised to see you actually, you know,  _ fighting crime. _ Didn’t you have a hair appointment today?”

 

“I already went,” Johnny fluffed at his hair. “Yeah, I actually got it cut in order to donate to the needy. You could probably use some, right? I assume you’re bald under there.”

 

“Bald?” Peter squawked, puffing up. “Yeah, right, Burnout. Speaking of which, you’d better check that hair of yours. I think you burned some of it off.”

 

“That’s the haircut, genius,” Johnny quipped back. “I didn’t hit you during that fight, did I? Seems like your brain got fried.”

 

“Har har,” Peter huffed as he moved forward, passing Johnny to head for the front door. “How long did it take you to come up with that one?”

 

“I stayed up all night,” Johnny answered, following. “Some of us like to put some effort into our work, rather than just spitting out any insult that comes to mind.”

 

“Some of us don’t  _ have  _ to.” Peter picked up two tables that were stacked in front of the door and moved them out of the way. Johnny dragged another one out from in front of the double doors as Peter returned for the final one.

 

“Now who’s being a show-off?” Johnny frowned at Peter, and Peter snickered.

 

“Who, me?” Peter pushed the doors open, exposing them both to the dim daylight. Peter looked over at Johnny. “Yeah, maybe a little. Hey, as long as we’re showing off,” Peter stepped forward and slung a web, launching into the air, sandwich long forgotten. “Try and keep up!” He called over his shoulder. “Loser buys the pizza!”


	2. The Neverending Month (Part 6)

**March**

 

The storm was mounting outside, but that wasn’t about to stop Peter. He was meeting up with MJ and— weirdly enough— Flash Thompson this afternoon, and he wasn’t about to miss it. If one had told him a year ago that he would be hanging out with Flash Thompson socially, Peter probably would have laughed himself hoarse. Or at least questioned his choice in friends.

 

That had all changed, though, after Gwen’s funeral, Peter reflected as he struck out from Avenger’s Tower, wind buffeting his body as he swung. The first few times he had Skyped MJ, it was just the two of them, but then he had been unlucky enough to catch her when Flash had been visiting. At least, he had considered it unlucky at first.

 

As it turned out, Peter told himself with a half-formed smile, Flash wasn’t a bad guy. He had been a jerk to Peter for a long time, but he could be pretty cool when he tried.

 

Flash had apologized, Peter remembered, for how he’d acted while Peter had been at school. It had been nothing short of miraculous, but as MJ had divulged to him later, Peter’s disappearance had changed him. He’d become more conscientious, MJ had told him. More empathetic.

 

So Flash and Peter were basically friends now.

 

No, Peter corrected. There was no  _ basically _ about it. They hung out semi-regularly, mostly with MJ, but sometimes without. They all met up whenever their hectic schedules would allow, and Peter found himself looking forward to the social opportunities. It was fun, hanging out with the Avengers, but it was something else to hang out with actual teenagers.

 

Peter laughed aloud. Between MJ, Flash, and Jessica, he practically had a social circle. Now that he was out of school, Peter had more friends than he’d ever managed to garner in his life. It was nice.

 

The pizzaria they’d chosen was in Queens, and before he even realized where he was going, he was swinging out over the Brooklyn bridge and his gut dropped.

 

It was never easy, coming here, Peter thought as he tried to swallow around his suddenly dry mouth. It was  _ hard _ , sometimes. But on days like today, days that were stormy and dark, he was reminded so vividly of Gwen that it ached.

 

Peter crossed the bridge and kept going.

 

It was getting better, Peter told himself. It got better. Everyone had told him that it would, and it had. He didn’t think about her, some days. Some days he thought about her a lot. It wasn’t good, but it was better. April had been hard, after Gwen was gone, but it had ended. Life had moved on. And so had Peter.

 

Peter crossed the bridge, and he kept going.

 

The wind was picking up as Peter landed on a rooftop and changed into his street clothes, so it was a relief to skitter down off the roof and duck inside the pizzaria. 

 

Predictably, MJ and Flash were already there. Somehow, no matter how hard Peter tried, he always ended up late to these things. It was a bad habit, for sure, but at least the two of them were cool about it.

 

“Well look who decided to show up,” MJ drawled teasingly, flashing him a grin as she elbowed Flash, seated next to her. “Thanks for deigning to join us, Peter. Good thing we didn’t wait on you to order the pizza. Hope you like mushrooms.”

 

“Sorry I’m late,” Peter grinned sheepishly back at her as he slid into one of the empty chairs at the table. “Traffic this time of day is pretty rough in Manhattan.”

 

“I still don’t know how you managed to convince  _ Tony Stark  _ to let you live in his tower,” Flash told him, arms crossed. “But however you did it, put in a good word for me, would you?”

 

“Me, too,” MJ insisted, leaning forward onto her elbows. “Don’t you dare think that you get to live in Avenger’s Tower without us forever, Peter. As your best friends, I must insist that you allow us to live in luxury with you.”

 

“Maybe once you’re old enough to move out,” Peter challenged with a snort.

 

“It’s not that far off,” MJ responded. “Especially for Flash. You turn eighteen next month, right?”

 

“Sure do,” Flash agreed. “And you’re officially a connection for me, Parker, I hope you know that. You’d better be ready to give me a boost up in the professional sector.”

 

“Peter’s practically a resume builder at this point,” MJ laughed. “Emancipated at sixteen, already working at Stark Industries before he even got his GED. Just  _ knowing _ him has got to be lucky.”

 

“But I  _ did _ get my GED,” Peter retorted.

 

“No college degree, though,” Flash countered. “You haven’t even started college, and you’re already getting research grants from one of the biggest tech companies in the  _ country. _ And you’re trying to act like that’s not absolutely miraculous? Shut up, Parker.”

 

“Hey, it’s not my fault I’m incredibly charming,” Peter shrugged. “And that he couldn’t help but to hire me after just one interview.”

 

“One interview which you managed to get  _ with Tony Stark _ . How the hell did you even pull that off?” MJ snorted, shaking her head.

 

“I cornered him in the bathroom,” Peter suggested, and Flash smirked.

 

“Try again.”

 

“I bought him a taco.”

 

“I don’t think so,” MJ tilted her head at him, snickering.

 

“I assassinated every more qualified researcher in the country.”

 

“Like you  _ could _ .” Flash kicked him under the table.

 

“Just lucky, I guess, then.”

 

Both of the other teenagers groaned. “I’m getting a real answer out of you someday, Peter,” MJ threatened, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

 

“You know what I think?” Flash leaned forward conspiratorially. “I think it’s because of Spider-Man.”

 

Peter’s heart skipped a beat, but he raised his eyebrows expectantly at Flash. “What do you mean?”

 

“You know the guy, right? And he’s an Avenger now. I bet he hooked up that interview for you, didn’t he?”

 

Peter tipped his head back, leaning comfortably against the back of his chair. “No. That’s not it.”

 

“Yes it is!” MJ yelped, a hint of laughter in her voice. “Peter, that’s exactly what happened, isn’t it? Everything makes sense, now.”

 

Peter shrugged. “Nah. That wasn’t it.” He smiled a little, though. It was too close to the truth, but he would rather they think that than start postulating that it was his own connection with Tony Stark that got him the job.

 

He was saved, for the moment, by the arrival of the pizza. They’d gotten a large, Peter recognized with gratitude. They had picked up on his somewhat startling metabolism, and had started ordering more to ensure that Peter wasn’t going to eat more than his fair share.

 

It ended up happening sometimes anyway, but hey, they tried.

 

“By the way, Pete,” MJ said sweetly, reaching out to take the first slice. “As the one with a paying job at Stark Industries, we figured you could pick up the check for this one.”

 

Yeah, that wasn’t unexpected.

 

“Sure,” Peter agreed, taking a piece of pizza for himself, the light of a challenge in his eyes. “But that means I’m eating as much of it as I want, so you guys had better  _ hurry  _ up if you want to  _ keep _ up.”

 

Conversation shifted away from Peter, then, for which he was grateful. Pizza, the upcoming auditions for a play at the youth center, and Flash’s college applications were much easier to talk about then Tony Stark and Avenger’s Tower and Spider-Man. It was much easier to pretend he was a normal teenager when he was flicking a slice of mushroom across the table to slap wetly against Flash’s cheek.

 

It was raining outside when they got up to leave.

 

“Did anyone bring an umbrella?” MJ asked miserably as they all crowded against the glass door, peering out. It was dark from the heavy clouds, despite it still being midafternoon, and the rain was coming in sideways thanks to the powerful wind.

 

“I don’t think an umbrella would be much help,” Flash pointed out, mouth twisting into a grimace.

 

“Well,” Peter glanced up towards the sky as a lance of lightning danced across the sky. “We could call a taxi?”

 

“I guess,” MJ agreed with a frown. “That might be for the best.”

 

“On it,” Flash told them, fishing his phone from his pocket as he stepped away from the door, allowing Peter and MJ to squeeze in a little closer, watching the storm rage outside.

 

“It’s a bad one,” She commented, voice quiet, and Peter nodded, arms crossing over his chest. He could feel his anxiety swelling, like an incoming tide, inside his chest. It bubbled in his throat and for a few moments he couldn’t answer.

 

“Looking forward to getting home,” Peter watched the water rushing by through the gutter, splashing over the curb the same way his anxiety was trying to spill upwards into his mouth and out into the open air.

 

“Me, too. I hope we get a good driver.”

 

“In New York?” Peter elbowed her lightly, making her smile. “Not likely.”

 

“Good point,” MJ grinned, elbowing him back. “Well, we’ll just have to hope for the best, then.”

 

“Hope for the best,” Peter agreed, looking out at the emptying sidewalk. “Yeah, I guess we’ll do that.”

 

Flash returned. “Okay, we’ll have a cab in just a couple of minutes,” he told them. “Dispatcher said he’s only a couple of minutes away.”

 

“Great,” MJ pulled her coat tighter around herself. They could feel the chill seeping in through the glass. It was starting to get warmer as they left winter behind, but without the sun, the cold was always quick to return.

 

That thought felt uncomfortably like a metaphor, Peter thought, feeling a familiar moroseness settling over him. He wasn’t thrilled about it.

 

“Hey, Parker,” Flash’s hand settled on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

 

“I’m fine,” Peter agreed without thinking, and although he didn’t look at them, he could tell they were looking at him with concern. He wasn’t sure when they’d gotten so careful about his emotions, but it seemed like he could never hide the truth from them. He supposed he should be counting himself lucky that they hadn’t figured out  _ all _ of his lies, yet.

 

“Days like this,” MJ said suddenly. “I think about Gwen.”

 

Peter froze, shoulders stiffening. MJ had turned to look back out the window.

 

“I remember that it was storming the day she died,” MJ said quietly, the pain evident in her voice. “My aunt told me, and I couldn’t believe it. She hadn’t told me, at first, that it was a supervillain that did it, so I remember looking out the window at the storm and trying to figure out what had happened. It was raining so hard, just like this.” Her voice broke on the last word and she fell quiet.

 

Peter watched her, his grief warring in his chest with a new emotion. Flash spoke up before he got the chance to say anything in response to her, though.

 

“Me, too,” he said quietly. A car honked its horn outside, muted by the wall between them. “MJ called me,” Flash told Peter, and he realized he’d never heard about this from their side of the events. He had no idea what they had gone through, hearing that their friend had died. “Told me she’d been killed by Doc Ock. I thought she was joking at first. Or, not joking, because that’s not funny. But lying, I guess. But she was crying and I knew she was telling the truth, so I was hoping she was  _ wrong _ . But it was on the news.” Peter looked up at him and saw that Flash’s face was pale. He met Peter’s eyes, and Peter swallowed hard. “They were talking about it on the news. There was a reporter out on the bridge, in the rain, talking about a teenage girl who’d been thrown off the bridge.”

 

Peter was struggling to breathe. 

 

“I think about her, too,” he admitted, hands burying themselves deep into his hoodie pocket to hide the way they tightened into trembling fists. “Especially when it’s rainy. I think about… about how scared she must have been.”

 

The rain against the roof of the pizzaria was loud. The wind was whistling between the buildings. Gwen was falling off the Brooklyn Bridge.

 

“I think about— about how far she fell.” Peter’s eyes squeezed shut. He had cried enough, he told himself. He didn’t need to cry about this anymore. He could see Gwen, falling, staring up at him, behind his eyelids. She hadn’t screamed, Peter remembered. She had just stared up at him, one hand outstretched, like she had expected him to catch her. 

 

“Every time it rains, I— I—” He abruptly ducked his head, not willing to let Flash and MJ see the way his face screwed up at the way the memories bombarded him. He could hear, even from the inside of the restaurant, a siren in the distance. He was shaking, his body had frozen up, all he could see was Gwen  _ falling _ . He couldn’t even really remember seeing her slip, he just saw her  _ falling. _

 

MJ’s arms wrapped around him from the side and her cheek pressed against his shoulder as she stared sadly out the window. He felt Flash’s hand settle on his other shoulder as he stepped up behind, and in the contact, the three of them were bound together by their grief. All three of them, drowning together in the emotion that was losing Gwen. Somehow, Peter thought, grasping for relief, it felt less lonely. He wished that MJ and Flash didn’t feel this way, but at least he wasn’t alone.

 

The Avengers weren’t able to do that for him, Peter thought. Even if they tried to sympathize, they tried to express their sorrow with him, they didn’t really understand.

 

Flash and MJ understood. They knew Gwen like he did. They all  _ knew _ what losing her really meant.

 

A cab pulled up outside, honking its horn twice, and the three of them disengaged, breaking away from their mutual gloom.  MJ pulled up her hood, and Peter copied her mechanically. He hadn’t cried, he thought, feeling numbness settling into his stomach, but it had been a similarly cathartic moment, experiencing his pain with his friends.

 

By the shaky smile Flash gave him as he squeezed past them to go out the door, he felt the same. MJ went next and then Peter was right behind, the three of them rushing through the icy rain to climb into the cab. 

 

The warm air in the backseat of the vehicle was like a thick, heavy ash, and the laughter they shared as MJ pressed her cold fingers against their necks was fresh green bud pushing its way out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ngl I miss hearing from you guys. HMU! I love talking to yall


	3. There's Someone Standing Right Behind You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I opened up my google doc in order to post this chapter it told me that the last edit was on October 16th

**April**

 

Flames crackled and popped as Peter crouched in the middle of a sixth floor hallway, listening hard for any sounds of life.

 

Most of the residents had managed to evacuate, Peter thought, eyes scanning through the dusky red light at the closed doors. But it seemed like there was always  _ someone _ who missed the memo. He wasn’t sure why a fire alarm seemed like an optional warning, but inevitably there would be  _ somebody _ who didn’t make it out before their way was blocked.

 

And sure enough, one of the members of the crowd outside had said he heard shouting inside his neighbor’s apartment shortly before the fire began, but the neighbor had never emerged from the building.

 

So now, Peter thought, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to read numbers on doors, Peter had to find him. His spider sense was like a klaxon in the back of his head, desperately pleading with him to leave the building, it was  _ dangerous _ , there was  _ fire, _ it might  _ collapse _ .

 

“I know, I know,” Peter mumbled irritably to himself, scampering down the hall on all fours to try and avoid the smoke churning in the air just above his head. “I’m working on it.”

 

There was a creak behind him and Peter grimaced, glancing over his shoulder. The floors were weakening, he recognized. Soon things would be getting pretty precarious. Not a death sentence for someone who could stick to walls, by any means, but certainly a dangerous situation. It was worse, Peter determined, for a normal old man who’d decided to try and weather the fire in his home.

 

God, New Yorkers were freaking crazy, the teenager dressed in a spider suit thought with a grimace. The irony was not lost on him.

 

Peter squinted up at the lettering on each door he passed, chanting under his breath. “Eighty-five, eighty-five, eighty-five. This building is so impractically numbered.” It was hot, inside. Peter switched on the air inside his suit, grateful that the mask was, somehow, filtering the smoke as he breathed. Tony had really packed the tech into this thing.

 

Peter found door number eighty-five.

 

“Mr. Carson?” Peter called through the door, wondering if knocking would be weird, considering the circumstances. “Mr. Carson, it’s, um. It’s Spider-Man. I’m here to get you out of here.”

 

There was silence from the other side of the door and Peter grimaced. Okay. That was fine. Peter had broken more doors than he could count, over the last two years, and he wasn’t about to balk at this one.

 

He pressed his palm to the door near the handle, avoiding the potentially hot metal, and yanked. The wood around the lock splintered, but Peter was able to scamper inside.

 

Peter glanced around, feeling twitchy as his spidey sense screamed at him, trying to get him to abandon his search and make his escape. It was great, having a practically precognitive danger sense, Peter thought with a frown, but it was pretty annoying that it wasn’t geared towards heroism the way he would have liked it to be. It was much more concerned with his personal survival. Understandable, he had to admit, but frustrating nonetheless.

 

“Mr. Carson?” Peter called again, pulling the door around behind him, hoping to block out some of the smoke from the hallway. It wasn’t too bad, inside the apartment, yet: the towels piled on the floor in the doorway assured him that the resident had tried his best to block it out.

 

Peter stood, peering around in the light from outside. The power in the building was off, but it looked like Mr. Carson had opened the curtains so he would be able to see. Where  _ was _ he? Not on the couch, he could see, and the open floorplan allowed him a clear view of the kitchen. He wasn’t in there, either.

 

“Are you in here?” Peter called, relatively certain that he was. It was difficult to hear much over the sound of flames, but those towels were a dead indicator that someone was inside the apartment. Peter wished that Mr. Carson would  _ answer _ him. Peter was getting nervous, especially with his spider sense filling his head with all the bad things that were going to happen here, soon.

 

There was a loud  _ boom _ from somewhere downstairs and Peter suddenly found himself on the ceiling, breaths coming quick and shallow. “Okay,” He said aloud, suspicious gaze dropping to the floor. It was still intact, for the moment. “Okay, it’s fine. He’s here somewhere. Just gotta grab him and get out. Then it’ll be fine. Everyone else is accounted for. I don’t have to come back in here.”

 

Peter dropped back to the floor and walked quickly into the small hallway past the couch. The shower was on, he could hear, in the bathroom. Was the guy really showering while his apartment burned down?

 

Peter rapped his knuckles against the door, not willing to just burst inside and catch an eyeful of more than he wanted to see. “Mr. Carson,” he called. “It’s Spider-Man. I need you to get out of the shower and come with me. The building is going to collapse.” Probably, he told himself, trying to ignore the jittery pessimism from his spidey sense.

 

“Go away!” Peter heard from inside, and he grit his teeth. Okay, he told himself again. Okay.

 

Peter opened the door the same way he had the front, bypassing the lock completely and yanking firmly. The shower curtain was clear, Peter was horrified to find, but the glimpse he caught before averting his eyes assured him that Mr. Carson was, strangely enough,  _ dressed _ under the running water of the shower. 

 

“What are you doing in here?” Peter demanded. “This really isn’t the time to be showering.”

 

“I read it in a book,” Mr. Carson told him stubbornly. “The fire can’t burn me in here.”

 

That shocked Peter into silence for a moment, but another explosion sound from downstairs startled him into action. He crossed the space between the door and the shower and ripped the curtain away, startling the man inside. He must be at least seventy years old, Peter thought, frustrated. 

 

“That’s stupid,” Peter told him firmly, watching the outrage build on the man’s face. “If you stay here, you’re going to die, so I’m taking you with me.” He didn’t allow any further time for argument: instead he scooped up the old man, draping him over his shoulder and sticking him there so he wouldn’t be able to squirm away.

 

“Hey!” Mr. Carson shouted, trying anyway as Peter turned and reentered the hallway. “You put me down right now, you menace!”

 

“Great,” Peter groaned. “A Daily Bugle reader. Well, sorry, Mr. Carson, but I’m not going to do that. We’re going to go outside with the rest of your neighbors before you burn to death.”

 

Peter ignored further complaints from the old man as he approached a window, spider sense screaming as he heaved it open, electing not to break it more out of concern for scratching Mr. Carson than any respect for the integrity of the glass itself.

 

Then he shimmied out, careful to get them both through before leaping free of the burning building, eager to get the both of them away as his spidey sense continued to scream. Mr. Carson was screaming, too, Peter thought with a roll of his eyes as he used his webs to safely touch down onto the street before releasing the shouting civilian from his shoulder.

 

Peter ignored the threats of lawsuits as Mr. Carson stumbled away from him, instead turning to look at the burning building. His spidey sense was still burning in the back of his neck, Peter thought, staring at the flames licking behind the windows. It was still warning him. But it wasn’t reacting to the building, he realized. It wasn’t pointing that way. So what was it?

 

Peter suddenly felt the eyes of the bystanders burning into him like brands, and his suspicion grew as his spidey sense itched and roiled under his skin. He thought, unbidden, of Dmitri, and the roar in the back of his head grew louder.

 

Peter fled, panic lighting up in his arms and chest like fireworks.

 

He swung away from the scene, trying to put distance between himself and his pursuer. He didn’t know for sure if it was Dmitri, but someone was following him, he thought, casting a glance over his shoulder. He couldn’t see anyone and he thought again of the Chameleon, the way he was able to vanish from view at will.

 

Had he escaped?

 

Peter’s fear was only escalating as the alarms going off in his head continued. He wasn’t getting away from whatever— or whoever— it was, he realized with horror. It was following him. It was  _ keeping up _ .

 

Peter fled, his body burning with his terror.

 

He swung from building to building, barely paying attention to where he was going as his spidey sense assured him that he was in danger. He wished he could  _ see _ it, he wished he could catch sight of it, but he was pressed onward by instinct. This was the only way to stay safe, his spidey sense told him. Escape. He had to escape.

 

Peter swung up, and there, right in front of him, was a figure silouetted against the night. He stood in a calm, composed posture, hands behind his back as he stared at Peter. The screaming in Peter’s head reached a peak and Peter reacted.

 

He launched forward, kicking out both feet, but the man ducked out of the way. Peter landed on the roof in a roll, popping back up as he dodged a punch that he sensed, but didn’t see. He scurried forward, throwing a punch at the figure at the edge of the roof, but the man dodged again, grabbing him by the nape of the neck as he went by and pushing hard, throwing him off the roof entirely.

 

In his panic, Peter almost didn’t catch himself, but a web sent him arching sharply upwards as he flipped back onto the roof, panting.

 

“Spider-Man!” The man snapped, and Peter’s spider sense had him sprinting across the roof, too fast, as he swung again, sloppy, desperate. The man dodged again, and managed to land a punch against Peter’s cheekbone that sent him staggering back. “Spider-Man, stop it!”

 

Peter jumped forward and tackled the man to the ground, but was launched up and over him by a foot planted in his stomach. He landed flat on his back, panting, and suddenly there was a staff pressed to his throat and he got his first good look at the man.

 

“Spider-Man,” Daredevil hissed. “What the hell are you doing?”

 

“Daredevil,” Peter was gasping, disoriented, panic fading only slightly. There was something coming, he thought wildly. Something right behind him. “Help me.”

 

The staff retracted from his throat as the vigilante scowled down at him. “What’s going on?” He demanded.

 

“Someone’s following me,” Peter wheezed, fingers digging into the gritty concrete of the roof. “Someone’s coming.”

 

There was a moment of pause, then Peter saw the man shake his head. “There’s no one coming.”

 

“There is,” Peter insisted, eyes scanning the sky for the threat. “I can feel it. They’re coming.”

 

“No one’s coming, Spider-Man,” Daredevil told him sternly, but Peter ignored him. Daredevil leaned over him where he lay, face blocking out his view of the sky, and Peter’s heart raced faster in his chest. “Listen to me. No one is coming. I promise. Take a deep breath, Spider-Man.”

 

Peter shook his head jerkily, hastily, trying to sit up, but Daredevil pushed him back down. He felt so vulnerable, lying prone like this. “Someone’s coming,” he gasped out. “Something’s coming.”

 

Another few beats of silence, then Daredevil stood. “Okay,” he said, turning away. “I’ll keep guard. You catch your breath.”

 

He didn’t move away from Peter, but he stood at the ready, staring out over the skyline of what Peter was only now realizing was Hell’s Kitchen.

 

Peter caught his breath, the terror in the back of his head beginning to fade as he did so. He stared up at the dark blue slate that was New York City’s sky, trembling against the roof. Daredevil didn’t move.

 

His spidey sense quieted slowly, from a roar to a scream, down to a ripple of spikes, shifting into a tingle before fading away completely.

 

Peter breathed, staring up at the sky, Daredevil in his periphery. Peter shivered, then slowly sat up.

 

“Better?” Daredevil prompted him quietly, fingers still tight on his staff, and Peter pushed himself shakily to his feet. 

 

“Yeah,” Peter swallowed, glancing over the nearby rooves. “Better.” He rubbed at the back of his neck, trying to figure out what had just happened. He had been so sure that something bad was about to happen, but… nothing?

 

Daredevil turned to face him. “Care to tell me what that was about?” He asked, voice hard, and Peter cringed as he realized he’d just attacked Daredevil out of nowhere.

 

“Uh— to be honest with you, I’m not entirely sure,” Peter looked away again, still scanning the streets. His paranoia lingered, but that was all that it was, now: paranoia. He wasn’t picking up  _ anything _ . Had he been imagining it? “I was  _ sure _ that someone was chasing me. I could  _ feel  _ it. But now that’s just… stopped.”

 

“There’s no one out there,” Daredevil told him again. “No one following you, at least. You were alone.”

 

Peter didn’t know how he was so positive, but there wasn’t a hint of doubt in his tone.

 

“I’m sorry,” Peter told him contritely. “I guess I just… panicked when I saw you. I thought you were… I don’t know.”

 

“No harm done,” Daredevil answered with a shrug. “But maybe you ought to head home for the night.”

 

“Yeah,” Peter agreed, looking out towards Avenger’s Tower. It was very nearby, he remembered. “I think that would be a good idea.” He stepped up onto the raised lip of the edge of the building, still trembling. “Um— thanks for…”

 

Daredevil nodded at him. “Go home, Spider-Man,” He said, and although the words themselves weren’t especially reassuring, the practically soft tone of the Devil of Hell’s kitchen was enough to send him off the edge of the roof, swinging east towards home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi hello how are you
> 
> I totaled my car last weekend so I've been dealing with that all week so it feels like it's been a really long time since I've posted anything even though my schedule hasn't changed. Been a long week, is what I'm saying


	4. Mutation

**May**

 

“Dang it,” Peter shook his hand briskly, trying to shake the spoon off his hand where it clung to his fingers. Nearby, Thor chuckled.

 

“Having trouble, my spidery young friend?” He smirked at Peter from where he was lounging in a chair at the kitchen table. He took a smug sip of the coffee Peter had just handed him, then promptly hissed. “Hot.”

 

“No kidding,” Peter retorted, frowning over at him. “I just made it. Blow on it, first.” Peter managed to dislodge the spoon and it fell to the counter with a clatter, leaving his hands free so that he could pick up his coffee cup. “I’ve been extra sticky the last few days. I don’t know if it’s just the weather, or puberty, or weird radiation-induced spider powers being weirder than normal.”

 

“I’m no expert,” Thor mused, crossing his ankles where they were languidly stretched out, seemingly halfway across the kitchen. “But I would suggest consulting a wizard. Or perhaps a doctor.”

 

“Gee, thanks, Thor,” Peter plopped down at the table with a scoff, shooting Thor a dry smirk. “I never would have thought of that on my own.”

 

“Happy to help,” Thor smiled back at him so sincerely as he raised his mug in salute that it was impossible to stay mad. He took another sip and grimaced again. “It’s still hot.”

 

“Blow on it!” Peter exclaimed, exasperated, even as a grin spread across his cheeks. Thor  _ always _ knew how to make him feel better. “So are you going back to Asgard today, or were you thinking about sticking around for a while longer?”

 

“I must return,” Thor answered him apologetically. “Now that the peril has passed, I have to assume my duties back on Asgard.”

 

“The life of a royal,” Peter sighed with a shake of his head, and Thor nodded with a grimace.

 

“The price we pay, my friend. What about you? Do you have any plans?”

 

“None specifically,” Peter shrugged. “I was thinking I might go out, swing around, see if I can spot any crime to stop.”

 

“You’re not overworking yourself, are you?” Thor’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “This isn’t becoming another  _ winter _ episode, is it?”

 

“No, Thor,” Peter grinned at him and took a pointed sip of his coffee. “I’m here, drinking coffee, aren’t I? I had a movie marathon with Bruce last week. I’ve been sleeping at least six hours every day. I’ve been going to work. I promise, I’m doing okay. This isn’t like the winter after Aunt May.”

 

“Alright,” Thor nodded, setting his empty—  _ empty? _ — cup down on the table. “Well if that changes, don’t hesitate to call on me. Ask Heimdall to let me know you’re in need, and I’ll come straight away.”

 

“I still feel weird, talking to air,” Peter admitted with a wrinkle of his nose.

 

“Don’t,” Thor advised, leaning in conspiratorily. “If you must feel weird, consider this: Heimdall sees all.” He lifted his eyebrows and repeated, “ _ All _ .”

 

Yeah, okay, Peter thought uneasily. That was weirder.

 

“Anyway,” Thor stood, his breezy attitude returning. “I must go. Thank you again for the invitation to the fight.”

 

“Any time,” Peter assured him, trying not to think too hard about the fact that Heimdall might be watching them right now. “See you again soon?”

 

“Of course,” Thor agreed seriously, giving him a squeeze on the shoulder that was, somehow, more bracing than the coffee was. That guy was so cool.

 

Peter finished his coffee in the quiet of the empty kitchen, staring out the window at the view of the city. It was sunny out, but there were big, puffy white clouds drifting through the sky overhead. Not rain, Peter decided with pleasure. Just shade. Yeah, today was going to be a good day to get out of the tower and hang around New York. Peter  _ loved _ it out there, especially before it got  _ really _ hot.

 

Peter deposited both his and Thor’s mugs into the dishwasher, then jogged for the elevator, his spirits lifting as he looked forward to his day. It was weird, Peter thought with amusement. He probably  _ ought _ to be spending his days working, being an emancipated minor and all, but he’d somehow managed to land the best job in the world. Open hours, Peter thought with a wistful sigh. As soon as he entered the lab he used down in R&D, he was on the clock. When he left, he was off.  And he could go in there  _ any time _ .

 

Fair to say that Peter wasn’t hurting for money, he thought gleefully as he exited the elevator onto the residential floor. For the first time in his life, he had enough money to do whatever he wanted. It still didn’t stop Tony from paying for too much for him, but it was nice, not having to worry.

 

Peter wasn’t worried, he thought with a great sense of relief. There wasn’t anything to worry about. Everything was okay.

 

He still missed Uncle Ben and Aunt May and Gwen. He still regretted and mourned and sometimes he fell apart over it. But he was okay. 

 

Peter changed into his suit and stepped back out into the hallway. He glanced up and down it as he did. The people he loved lived here, he thought with a smile. His family was all here, practically within arms reach.

 

He didn’t bother with the elevator this time, instead jogging down to the end of the hall where a window opened out onto the cityscape below.

 

“JAR,” Peter called up to the ceiling as he approached. “Open the window for me?”

 

“It would be my pleasure, sir,” JARVIS agreed, and the glass parted with a mechanical whir, leaving Peter a route to throw himself straight out of the building. Tony, Peter thought with affection. That guy was too much, sometimes. Not that Peter was complaining, if it got him an exit where a regular, unopenable window used to be.

 

Then Peter was on the move, heading north away from the tower. Midtown Manhattan was a hotspot of activity, sure, especially because of all the tourists hovering around, but it was too beautiful outside to let the skyscrapers dominate his view.

 

Peter’s fingers stuck too long on his next swing and he was sent flailing off course, a yelp of surprise serving as narration as he fumblingly shot out another web to catch himself, coming up just shy of the car rooftops below and startling a unified scream from a bevy of bystanders nearby.

 

“Everything’s fine! Under control!” Peter called over his shoulder, though it was really impossible to say whether or not they heard him, because in moments he was far past them and no longer within shouting range.

 

Under control. Peter frowned, thinking about that. Maybe it wasn’t technically correct, he had to admit to himself. His powers seemed kind of… touchy, at the moment. He switched, then, to considering the pun he’d just accidentally made. Touchy, he mused, pleased with himself. Because it was his  _ hands _ he was having trouble with, specifically when they were  _ touching _ things.

 

But then the time for contemplation was over, because his neck burned and a moment later there was an explosion to the north. Peter looked up and saw a plume of smoke drifting up over the roofs of New York.

 

Back to it, he thought, flipping once— mostly to entertain the people shouting down below— before swinging faster towards the disturbance.

 

As he moved closer, Peter could see that the smoke was coming from a building and he grimaced, remembering the recent fire he was involved in, but then he saw that the burning—  _ whatever _ was burning— was on  _ top _ of a building, not inside it. Marginally better, Peter decided, but that didn’t stop him from moving closer. He needed to make sure that it didn’t catch anything else on fire, especially considering the explosion sound he’d heard not long ago.

 

To Peter’s considerable surprise, a cloud of smoke was stilling, gathering over the singular building top, and he could hear a rumble of thunder as lightning flashed inside the darkening mass. Not smoke, he realized, but a rain cloud. How was that possible?

 

It was raining over the building by the time he touched down on the edge, the rain wetting the front of his suit, but not the back. Peter swallowed hard, brows furrowed, but he managed to rip his gaze away from the bizarre sight. After all, there was more than one weird thing to gape at around here.

 

The source of the flames, Peter saw now, was an unfamiliar plane. Not commercial, obviously, but neither was it something that belonged to the Avengers, SHIELD, or even the Fantastic Four. He could recognize all of those on sight, by now, but this was… different.

 

Milling around it was a group of people, looking put out with crossed arms and frowns, but not overly panicked over the state of their jet. They were either confident that this rain would put out the fire, or they didn’t care, Peter thought, gaping.

 

There was a sucking sound, followed immediately by the sound of the universe shifting unnaturally, almost a  _ bamf _ sound, Peter thought as a blue face appeared in front of his, gaze narrowed with suspicion. The man didn’t have time to speak, though, because the sudden appearance startled Peter right off the edge of the building.

 

“Oh!” A shout of surprise from above and the blue-faced man lurched against the edge of the building, peering down with horror to where Peter was clinging to the side of the building. The teen was mortified to have been so surprised and he was  _ incredibly  _ tempted to just swing away and let these guys attend to their business unimpeded, but then the man was talking to him. “Are you alright?” He called down. “Do you need help?” He seemed uncertain, hands twitching towards and away from Peter like he wanted to pull him back up but was unsure whether or not it would be welcome.

 

“I’m okay,” Peter called back, abashed, and scurried up the building, waiting for the guy to shift back away from the wall to make room before clambering back up over the ledge. Everyone was much closer, now, Peter noticed with horror, and they were all  _ staring. _ “Hey, guys,” He waved awkwardly, head tipping to one side. “Car troubles?”

 

That startled a laugh out of the blue man and a brown-haired teenage girl in the middle of the group, but the other four didn’t seem quite so amused.

 

Not that they were necessarily  _ unamused _ , Peter thought hopefully. Maybe this just wasn’t a good time for jokes. 

 

Oh, who was he kidding? Every time was a good time for jokes.

 

Peter hopped up, propping his hands on his hips. “What seems to be the trouble, citizens?” He asked, putting on a hokey voice, and this earned further giggles from the girl and a flash of a grin from a large man next to her. Man, Peter thought, focusing on him for a moment, might be a bit of an overstatement. He looked like he was probably only a few years older than Peter.

 

“Nothing you can help with, pipsqueak,” A man with the sickest sideburns Peter had ever seen growled, arms crossing tighter over his chest. “So you’d better head on back over to the clown college, I’m sure they’re missing you.”

 

“Clown?” Peter pressed one hand to his chest, faux-offended. “Why, I am nothing of the sort. Well— maybe a little similar. But only a little. I’ll have you know that I’m a superhero.”

 

“There are a lot of those in New York,” A man with some crazy weird sunglasses mused aloud, and the white haired woman next to him smirked.

 

“Apparently so,” she agreed dryly, and it was only then that Peter noticed the fact that all of the strangers, aside from the blue one who’d wandered over to him, weren’t getting wet.

 

“Whoa!” Peter exclaimed, leaping across the roof in a single bound, landing delicately inside the dry circle surrounding them, spinning in a circle as he stared up at the gap in the cloud up above. He almost missed the sudden defensive positions of the group as he gaped. “How are you doing that?”

 

There were a few moments of silence in response to his question. It was long enough that Peter had time to glance around the group, shuddering at the second  _ bamf _ sound as the blue guy rejoined the group.

 

“It’s one of my abilities,” The white haired woman answered, lifting an eyebrow at him.

 

“That’s so cool,” Peter enthused, hoping to set them all at ease again. These guys were kind of twitchy, he noticed. “Are you guys superheroes, too?”

 

“More or less,” Future’s So Bright I Gotta Wear Shades answered, the corner of his mouth twitching.

 

“Awesome! Are you like, a team? Who are you guys?”

 

“We’re the X-Men,” The tall guy answered, and wow, he had a thick accent, too. Then his words registered and Peter had more things to think about than the sound of his voice.

 

“X-Men!” Peter exclaimed, delighted, and he could see that they were calming down, now. All except for the scruffy guy with all the facial hair. “Oh my gosh,” Peter enthused, hands extending outward as he gestured to the guy and his  _ extended claws _ . Extended! Look at them! “You’re Wolverine! Oh my gosh, that’s so cool. That’s awesome. I’m honored to meet you, seriously, you have no idea. I’ve heard so much about you.”

 

“Seriously?” Wolverine snorted disbelievingly. “From who?”

 

“Deadpool,” Peter answered readily, watching the expression on his face begin to shift. “You guys are friends, right?”

 

“Friends? Jesus Christ,  _ no _ . Is he in town? If so, we need to get this thing moving  _ yesterday _ .” The last sentiment was directed to the rest of the team, and Peter’s questions would have to wait, because now his attention had been directed there, as well.

 

“Storm,” Peter identified the woman, and he felt stupid for not realizing sooner. “Right?”

 

“Right,” She agreed casually, her lips twitching into a tight smile.

 

“This is so awesome,” Peter looked at the man next to her. “Wow, I feel… pretty dumb, now. Obviously you’re Cyclops. Obviously. How did I not figure out who you guys were? Wow.”

 

“Don’t stress about it,” The teenage girl advised him, and Peter was embarrassed to realize he didn’t recognize the rest of them. She seemed to notice, because she continued. “I’m Kitty, or Shadowcat, and this is Peter.” Peter twitched as she thrust a thumb towards the large teen to her left. “You might not recognize him because he’s not made of metal, right now, but he’s Colossus. And this is Kurt, also known as Nightcrawler. And then obviously we’ve got Logan,” She pointed to Wolverine, who looked annoyed. “And Ororo,” That was Storm’s real name?  _ Cool _ . “And Scott.” Somewhat less cool, Peter had to admit, but it was still really, really cool that he was getting introduced to the X-Men on a first name basis. “Nice to meet you,” Kitty finished, a wide, likeable grin spreading over her face as she thrust her hand out towards him. Peter accepted the firm handshake with a grin of his own.

 

“Nice to meet you, too,” Peter agreed, trying to let her go, but he froze when he realized that his hand was sticking again. “Um.” Kitty gave him a weird look as she tried to pull her hand away and he, for all appearances, wouldn’t let go, so he hastily explained. “Ah— um, sorry, this… isn’t me being weird, I promise. Well, I guess it kind of is? But not on purpose. One of my powers is sticking to things and um— it’s kind of wacky, today. I think it’s the humidity? I don’t know, but I promise, I’ll get control of it in just a second here, hang on, I’m so sorry—” Before he could continue, though, there was a buzzing sensation where their hands were joined and  _ wow _ , okay, either his eyes were playing tricks on him or her hand just went straight through his. Kitty gave him a smile, pulling her extended hand back to herself. 

 

“No problem,” She assured him. “I’ve had my fair share of malfunctioning powers.”

 

“Cool,” Peter was staring at her, he realized, and he shook his head hastily, trying not to make it  _ even weirder _ . “So, um, what’s going on? Your plane looks a little… broken.”

 

“It is a little broken,” Kitty agreed, apparently taking over as Spider-Man handler as the adults turned back to dealing with the aircraft. “We took some fire during a fight over the Atlantic and we had to land.” Manhattan just happened to be closest. Sorry for bringing a burning plane into your city.”

 

“It’s okay,” Peter shrugged, then had to debate whether that was really a rational response. “As long as it doesn’t blow up or anything.”

 

“Don’t worry, we’ll take care of it. See? The fire must be out.” She gestured out away from them, and Peter looked up to see that the rain had stopped. Cool. “Now we just have to… you know. Fix it.”

 

“Do you guys need any help?” Peter offered, hands propping onto his hips. “I’m an Avenger, you know, I can get you what you need if you need… I don’t know. Parts, or labor, or a mechanic? I don’t know what’s wrong with it. Or what you need at all. But, um. Yeah. Happy to help. If I can.”

 

“That’s right,” Kitty’s eyes lit up. “I heard you were made an Avenger last year, right?”

 

“Right,” Peter agreed, beaming under his mask, puffing up a little in his pride.

 

“Well— I don’t really know what we need, yet,” Kitty admitted. “We’ll get to run diagnostics in a few minutes here, see what we have, and then… can I let you know?”

 

“Sure,” Peter agreed. “I’d offer to help out with the diagnostics, I’m a pretty fair hand with technology, but this kind of looks… above my head,” he shrugged ruefully.

 

“Don’t worry,” Kitty smirked at him, and Peter decided that he liked her. “I’ve got it under control. I’m a pretty fair hand with tech, too.” She winked at him, then turned to the plane, beckoning him to follow. “You’re welcome to hang out, though.”

 

“Really? Awesome!” Peter trotted after her feeling somewhat like an overeager puppy, but she didn’t seem to mind, so he decided not to, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last edit to this chapter was on October 28
> 
> I haven't written in WEEKS
> 
> But I bought a car!! So that's fun!


	5. Stumbling Block

**June**

 

Peter listened to the sound of his breath as he sat on the park bench, eyes closed. It was easier all the way up here, on the very top of the One World Trade Center. It was the tallest building in Manhattan, and therefore farthest from the bustle of the city below.

 

He could still hear the cars honking, Peter thought, wincing as the blare of a horn broke his concentration. He could hear the sound of the ocean. While he wasn’t able to really  _ hear _ the chatter of the people on the ground, he was still  _ aware _ of it. There was a helicopter going by several blocks away. Pigeons were cooing not far off.

 

Peter gave in and opened his eyes to the glaring light of day, a grimace pasted onto his face. “Meditation is impossible,” He complained into his comm, directing the statement through JARVIS to its intended recipient. The miracle machine himself knew exactly who Peter was trying to reach.

 

“You just have to concentrate,” Bruce advised him over the line, although he sounded distracted. Peter huffed. Bruce was the  _ master _ of concentration, he thought bitterly. Even this conversation wasn’t distracting him from whatever it was that he was doing.

 

“How am I supposed to concentrate with all this noise?” Peter demanded, feeling frustrated. Bruce had recommended the technique weeks ago, but Peter had been completely unable to manage clearing his mind at all inside the tower. There was always someone entering or exiting a room, JARVIS passing along messages, someone in the elevators, something loud happening on the surrounding floors, someone knocking on his bedroom door. There was never a moment of quiet. Why weren’t there any soundproof rooms in the tower?

 

“What do we need soundproofing for?” Tony had scoffed when Peter brought it up. “You’re hearing the sounds of  _ progress _ , kid. The sounds of  _ business _ . Soak it in.”

 

Peter was soaking it in, alright. So he had left the tower to try and find somewhere quiet in New York City. Talk about a wild goose chase, Peter thought with a huff. There wasn’t a place in this town where he could block out the noises of the city.

 

“Keep trying, Peter,” Bruce encouraged him, bringing Peter back to the conversation. “ You’ll get better at blocking out the sounds. It’s all a part of the process.”

 

“Okay,” Peter agreed, defeated. “If you say so.” He turned his baleful gaze out over Manhattan, wondering if New Jersey was any quieter than New York.

 

Who was he kidding? He’d never be caught dead setting foot in  _ New Jersey. _

 

Peter spun away from the offending state and looked back over towards his own town. Maybe Queens would be quieter, he thought with a grimace. Not likely, but hey, maybe around the edges? Maybe.

 

Peter dropped from the building, swinging away to the East.

 

He didn’t know why mastering meditation felt so important, but it did. As he struggled to learn it, Bruce had assured him that it wasn’t for everyone, that it didn’t mean anything about him if he couldn’t get it, that it wasn’t important for him to know. But Bruce had brought it up during therapy and, heck, Peter could use a healthy coping mechanism. He had plenty of unhealthy ones and very few positive outlets. He would take any suggestion he could get.

 

Hence, he thought, flipping his way over the Williamsburg bridge and into Brooklyn, the meditation frustration. Hey, that was pretty good, he thought, mood brightening a little. Meditation Frustration. Had a nice ring to it. He’d have to keep it in mind for future joke telling opportunities. It was always a good idea to have a backlog of funny phrases like that, just in case a chance came up to use it. Off-the-cuff humor was much easier if one came prepared. Maybe it was cheating, a little, but as long as Peter didn’t  _ tell  _ anybody he prepared so thoroughly to be funny, then nobody would ever know his shame.

 

The engine of a motorcycle was rumbling down below as it weaved through traffic, dodging the red lights and stalled cars like a pro. Peter kind of liked seeing them do that; motorcyclists were kind of kindred spirits. Both they and Spider-Men abhorred traffic and did their best to avoid it through whatever means necessary.

 

Peter groaned aloud, tossing his head back in between swings and enjoying the weird semi-vertigo the sensation provided. Even his  _ thoughts _ were loud today. And— ok, yeah, every day. The curse of Peter Parker, he thought with a rueful shake of his head.

 

It was still weird, being in Queens. Not as bad as it had been for those first few months, when every corner, every rooftop, every door reminded him of a time when his family was alive, but still weird. He would still see a flash of blonde hair and think of Gwen. He would see a beat up old car and think of Uncle Ben. He would see their apartment building and think of Aunt May.

 

But as he made new memories in Queens, things started to change back from painful momentos into everyday places.

 

That rooftop— that was the one where he’d spotted the two teenagers debating whether or not they should try to mug someone.

 

That streetlamp was the one he had hung a crook from after their fight.

 

That fire hydrant had gotten some of his blood on it when he’d been thrown against it. That one wasn’t super pleasant, sure, but it was normal. It wasn’t grief. And honestly Peter had had enough of grief to last him a lifetime, so a memory that made him grip his hip at the remembered pain was more than welcome in its stead. 

 

It wasn’t, Peter discovered, any quieter in Queens. Neither was his brain. Okay, he decided. Forget meditating. Meditation clearly wasn’t for him. He had too much antsy energy anyway. He would never be able to sit still for long enough to really get anything out of it. He’d just hang out in Queens for the day. Visit some of the old food vendors he used to frequent. Hey! He could actually afford to pay them for the food he got, now.

 

He thought fondly of the many gifted sandwiches and hotdogs he’d received over his tenure so far as Spider-Man. It was unbelievably touching, but it felt so uncomfortable, accepting something for nothing. It would be nice to be able to pull his weight with these guys.

 

Peter spotted the taco truck that Wade had turned him onto several months ago and his mouth watered. That dumb jerk always wanted to eat Mexican and Peter made sure to put up a fuss about it at least once a week, but he wasn’t wrong about the places he dragged Peter to. They were  _ quality. _

 

Spider-Man touched down on the sidewalk next to the line and joined it, waving ahead to the guy taking orders at the window. The customers ahead of him were staring, and Peter put his hand down, abashed.

 

The woman directly in front of him had a bright smile on her face. “Spider-Man!” She exclaimed, looking downright delighted at the sight of him. “I can’t believe it. It’s nice to meet you: I’m Felicia.” 

 

“Hi, Felicia,” Peter answered with a returning grin, even if she couldn’t see it. “How’s it goin’?”

 

“Good, good,” Felicia, a few years older than him, by the looks of it, her dyed white hair nonwithstanding, thumbed towards the cart. “Can I buy you lunch?”

 

“Absolutely not,” Peter answered firmly, arms crossing over his chest. Her shoulders slumped a little as she blinked at him, surprised, so Peter hastened to continue. “I’m not the low-budget neighborhood vigilante I used to be. I’m not going to let New Yorkers spend their hard earned money on me anymore. In fact: I’ll buy  _ your _ lunch.” He puffed up his chest with pride as Felicia laughed.

 

“What a gentleman! And they say chivalry is dead,” Felicia crooned, bumping him with her shoulder. Peter chuckled, too, politely allowing her to rock him back on his heels instead of showing off. “I hope you aren’t planning on swinging off as soon as you get your food, then. I’d love to keep you company.”

 

“Oh,” It was Peter’s turn to be taken by surprise. “I don’t want to hold you up or anything if you’ve got somewhere to be.”

 

“Nowhere at all,” Felicia assured him. Was she… no, Peter was imagining it. “Even if there was something, a lunch date with Spider-Man trumps other obligations.” Okay. Yeah. She winked at him. She  _ was _ flirting. Peter felt his cheeks heat unbidden.

 

“Uh,” He managed, but then Felicia had hooked her hand around his arm and pulled him up to stand next to her.

 

“Obviously I’m a fan,” She was telling him. “I admire what you’re doing. Going out and using your skills to help other people: it’s really very noble. I find it inspiring, actually: you’ve motivated me to better myself.” She smiled winningly at him.

 

“Oh— that’s great,” Peter agreed, feeling somewhat flustered. He couldn’t help but feel lost in response to the way she squeezed his bicep: after what had happened to Gwen, he didn’t think he was ready to date again. He wasn’t sure that he was ever going to  _ want _ to date again. Especially not this stranger on the street.

 

“Thank you. I’ve been doing a lot of physical training, you know, making my body stronger. I feel more prepared for the world, now. I feel like I can take care of myself, if I have to. And while I appreciate the fact that you’re around, looking out for everyone,” She winked at him again and Peter was glad she kept talking because his tongue had glued itself to the roof of his mouth. “You can’t be everywhere at once. Besides, one shouldn’t rely too heavily on others. Being able to do things for yourself is vital, don’t you think, Spider-Man? If you want something done right, and all that.”

 

“Right,” Peter agreed, baffled.

 

“I thought you might agree,” Felicia was saying when Peter managed to get his head back on straight. They shuffled forward in line. “You are a vigilante, after all. Vigilantes aren’t really the  _ sit back and wait _ type. You aren’t going to bury your head in the sand, expecting the police to do their jobs, huh?”

 

“I guess not.”

 

“Don’t sound so scared, Spider-Man,” she teased. “I’m not going to bite. I’m just saying that I admire you. And… thank you. Thank you for being my motivation.”

 

“Um— you’re welcome, Felicia,” Peter eventually agreed, giving her a smile behind his mask.

 

“Did you want to talk about something else?” Felicia offered, giving him a sympathetic look. Peter hastily shook his head.

 

“No— it’s fine. I guess you just… took me by surprise,” Peter explained uncertainly. “To be honest with you, I still kind of assume that people agree with the Daily Bugle, most of the time. It’s nice to be surprised otherwise, for sure, I just— never really expect it.”

 

“Well you should,” Felicia said firmly. “The Daily Bugle is full of it. You’re great.” That flirtatious look was back on her face, suddenly, and Peter immediately lost the footing he’d managed to gain in the conversation. “I can continue singing your praises, if you really want me to. All you need to do is ask nicely.”

 

“Uuuh—” 

 

People mostly didn’t flirt with Spider-Man, he thought, flummoxed. Spider-Man was viewed as a crime-fighting entity, and that was  _ it. _ He wasn’t considered a romantic prospect for most people. Sure, Johnny said things sometimes that could be construed as flirtatious, but he did that with  _ everyone _ . And Peter Parker definitely wasn’t seeing any kind of attention in that department: most of the people in his life were at least a decade older than him, and the few other teenagers he associated with were his friends. Two of them, he was fairly certain, were dating each other. Or maybe about to be? That would make more sense, seeing as they hadn’t mentioned it to him, yet.

 

Oh, gosh, was he about to start being a third wheel in his friendgroup? Was he about to start butting in on dates? Maybe he should wrangle Jessica into hanging out with them more, and then they could avoid the whole  _ three’s a crowd _ awkwardness—

 

“Spider-Man?” Felicia prompted him, snapping Peter back to the present. Oh, right: it was their turn to order.

 

“Hi, Mateo,” Peter greeted the guy running the window, who was grinning broadly at him, eyes flicking towards Felicia. Peter extracted his arm from her grip, fumbling for his patrolling wallet, tucked inside the belt. “I’ll take my usual, please. Felicia, get whatever you want. I’ve got it.”

 

“Thanks, Spider-Man.” She smiled at him before turning to place her order with Mateo, and Peter breathed a sigh of relief. She was a little intense, he had to admit. Not at all unpleasant, just— kind of a lot. She left Peter feeling somewhat out of his depth. Yeah, that was what it was. There really wasn’t anything wrong with  _ her _ , it was just Peter had no idea how to handle a personality like that, especially considering that personality was batting her eyelashes at him again.

 

Peter paid for their meal, trying, suddenly, to figure out if this had turned into a date without him noticing. No, surely not. It was just Spider-Man and a citizen. Spider-Man was getting her lunch because it was something nice he could do for a person living in his city.

 

But she was  _ flirting _ , Peter reminded himself again, lips pursing as they stepped to the side. She didn’t take hold of his arm again, but she did brush up against him as she stood close by, waiting patiently for the carnitas she’d ordered.

 

It took Peter too long to notice how quiet he was being and how Felicia, in return, had fallen silent.  _ Crap _ . He was being a bad date. Uh— a bad friend? A bad Spider-Man, for sure.

 

“So, Felicia,” Peter cleared his throat. “Tell me more about yourself.”

 

“Oh, there’s not really that much to tell,” She answered breezily. “I live with my mother in Queens. She’s getting a little older, now, and my dad isn’t around, so I like to be there just in case.”

 

“That’s really cool,” Peter nodded approvingly. His heart ached as he thought of Aunt May, but he put the thought aside. He didn’t have to worry about her, anymore. There wasn’t going to be a just in case with Aunt May. She was okay, now. “I’m glad you’ve got each other.”

 

“Me, too,” Felicia agreed with a smile, although there was a flash of pain behind her eyes that Peter might have missed if he hadn’t grown used to seeing it, “Family is so important. I think a lot of people forget that, in the rat race.”

 

“I agree,” Peter nodded slowly, grimacing. “I had to learn that one the hard way, and now I just… want everyone to know. So that they won’t make the same mistakes I did.”

 

Felicia’s head tipped to the side. “What happened?” She asked, her voice soft, and Peter abruptly shook himself out of the thought he’d been indulging. That wasn’t a good way to go, Peter rebuked himself, giving one firm shake of his head. It wasn’t really directed at Felicia, but he didn’t bother telling her that. It only served to illustrate the point.

 

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” He told her, voice lilting wryly. “It’s, uh, pretty personal.”

 

“It must be,” Felicia agreed thoughtfully. “I can understand that. I guess all our hardest lessons are bound to be pretty personal. Especially ones concerning our families.”

 

“Yours, too?” Peter grimaced sympathetically as Felicia smiled humorlessly.

 

“Mine, too.”

 

“Spider-Man,” Mateo called from the window, sliding their orders out onto the counter. “Here you go, buddy. Enjoy.”

 

“Thanks,” Peter took the opportunity to escape the awkwardness of the conversation, jumping forward to accept the foil-wrapped food from him. He turned back to Felicia, whose smile had become more genuine while his back was turned.

 

“Thank you again, Spidey,” She said, gesturing him to follow before turning to lead the way to a bench not far off. They settled down next to each other, and Peter handed Felicia her food as it occurred to him that he’d have to lift his mask to eat. While that might not normally bother him, something about Felicia made him feel a little more cautious than usual. Maybe it was her somewhat socially aggressive nature. Or maybe it was the way she kept looking down towards the bottom of his mask like she  _ wanted _ him to lift it.

 

Peter bit the bullet and rolled the spandex up over his nose, immediately tucking into his lunch in order to avoid having to say anything about it. Felicia, mercifully, didn’t mention it either.

 

Conversation eased a little, from there. Felicia had a lot to say, but then, heck, so did Peter. He’d never been one to shy away from a lively conversational partner before, and he sure wasn’t about to now. She was very quick witted, he was delighted to discover. She was like MJ, a little— sass with a heavy amount of bite tied into it. It was fun, talking to her.

 

He did feel kind of weird about how often he noticed her looking at his lips, but he tried to act like he didn’t notice. No point in making it awkward. That plan was foiled, though, when she started flirting again. She was being very clear that she was interested, Peter thought regretfully. But Peter just wasn’t ready for… anything. He didn’t even really want to think about it.

 

“Spider-Man?” Felicia prompted him, breaking through his haze, and Peter realized that he’d been absorbed in his thoughts for too long again. That was getting to be kind of a problem, he admitted ruefully.

 

“Sorry,” Peter winced as she raised an eyebrow at him. He was beyond grateful that he was starting to grow out of the need for the voice modulator. It would be weird if he had to roll his mask down every time he wanted to talk to her. “I got distracted. What was that?”

 

Felicia smirked at him, eyes rolling, and wiggled a pack of gum at him. “Do you want a piece? Don’t want to have cilantro-breath,” She joked, and Peter could feel his face reddening as she winked at him.

 

“Um.” He watched as she unwrapped a piece and popped it, giving him an expectant look that Peter was going to concentrate on until he smelled the gum. He immediately recoiled, nearly falling off the bench as he hastily tugged his mask down, trying to let the filters on it kick in. He was horrified to discover that it didn’t seem to do much. “What is that?” He demanded, stumbling back a few steps. It was  _ overpowering. _

 

“Uh,” Now it was Felicia’s turn to look confused. “Spearmint?”

 

“Oh my gosh,” Peter pressed a hand to his nose. “Wow. I’m not trying to say you smell or anything, but that gum— uh— I gotta get going.”

 

“Spidey,” Felicia protested, but Peter just waved her off and launched into the air, eager to get some distance between himself and the reek of mint. He’d never minded the smell, before, he thought, baffled. But now… he honestly hoped that he never smelled that again. Holy cow. When had mint gotten so rank? How was he the only one who had noticed? How had he never noticed  _ before? _

 

That had been humiliating, Peter thought regretfully. Felicia probably hated him, after he ran off like that. 

 

On the bright side, he thought, revisiting the memory a few nights later, it made it very, very easy to identify the woman grinning at him across the rooftop. Despite the fact that she now wore a mask and a black catsuit, there was no mistaking that smell as she popped her gum at him, a smug grin plastered across her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter of this!
> 
> Here's the UPDATED update, with information current up to tonight:
> 
> Current projects:  
> Clear Blue Morning: One more chapter, to be posted next Saturday
> 
> Love, At First: Partially written chapter, HOPEFULLY ready to be posted this coming Wednesday. Ideally this will continue to be updated every other week.
> 
> And Soon, So Too Shall I: The sequel to TCBRRG is in the works! I haven't started writing it yet, so it'll be a while before you start seeing chapters, but I'm aiming, right now, for once a month updates once I get going on that. I hope you guys like symbiotes ;)
> 
> And Everyone He Knows: SURPRISE I started writing another fic. Oops. This one is about the Winter Soldier... a canon-divergent AU where the Avengers rescue him from HYDRA immediately following the bridge fight in CA:WS. Expect angst, fluff, trauma, hurt/comfort, family building, and eventually... romance? Perhaps? :3c


	6. Better Than a Bandaid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the later-than-usual update! I forgot it was Saturday! This is adulthood, friends: weekends are exactly the same as weekdays. It's tragic, honestly.

July

Peter stared out one of his large bedroom windows. This room was so different than any of the ones he’d ever lived in, before. He didn’t really remember the bedroom from his childhood very well, but he could still picture the one at the house with Uncle Ben and Aunt May. It had been only a year and a half since the apartment he and Aunt May had moved into, and after that was Gwen’s room: it had been different every time, of course, but this was… something else.

He was getting used to it, though.

Peter had entered a whole new world, he thought with a wry smile. Everything was different, now: few vestiges of his old life had managed to cling to him through everything that had happened back then. It was okay, mostly: overall, he didn’t really think about it much. Weirdly enough, he was kind of used to living in Avengers Tower with the Avengers. He was mostly used to everything that had changed.

Sometimes, like now, it really hit him, though, how bizarre his life had become before his brain convinced him that it had settled into normalcy. How could he ever manage to believe that this bedroom was normal? How could he ever believe that his life wasn’t absolutely insane, now?

He missed his family with a sudden urgent pain that pulled his head down and burned at his throat. 

He had a new family, now, he told himself as he started automatically to push down on the agony, trying to stuff it away. He tried to hide it inside the emptiness in his chest that never really went away, but then he remembered himself.

“Your feelings aren’t stupid,” Bruce had told him firmly, leaning forward to rest his elbows against his knees. The look on his face was so unexpectedly intense that it surprised Peter out of the fit he had been working himself into. “Your feelings are real, and they deserve to be acknowledged. They deserve to be felt.”

Peter sucked in a sharp breath, fists clenching as he pressed his forehead against the glass. It was cool against his forehead, despite the heat that was surely blazing outside. He let the emotions scrabble tumultuously, struggling against the urge to ignore them. 

It didn’t last as long as it once would have, Peter decided as the post-tears numbness settled heavily onto his shoulders. Most days were pretty good, now, he realized. At least, compared to the way he’d been for a while, during the dark part of his life. Compared to how he’d been before, he was still in pretty rough shape, but he was slowly coming to grips with the fact that that was something he was going to have to be okay with. He really didn’t have a lot of options. Everything he’d gone through was a part of him, now, and those events were going to stay with him for the rest of his life.

“It’s not easy,” Bucky had sighed, late one night when he and Peter were in the kitchen. Bucky was making him cocoa that he swore was better than the packages Peter was used to. Guaranteed to make him feel at least a little better, he’d joked, and Peter was clinging to the hope that it was true. “It never really ends. You never really get over it. You just kind of… get used to it. And hell, it’s not perfect,” He had stared down into the milky chocolate of the pot, eyes sad for a moment before he turned a weary smile towards Peter. “But it’s better.”

Peter stood up, abandoning his position at the window to go into the adjoined bathroom. His eyes skittered away from the mirror for a moment before he forced them back. This was a habit he wanted to break, he reminded himself, staring his reflection in the eyes. He was okay, now, and looking at himself helped to remind him of that.

Every time he looked in the mirror, he remembered what he looked like that winter. Malnourished, exhausted, ill-groomed, often injured. It wasn’t like that, now. He was eating well. Resident super-soldier Steve made sure of that, Peter thought affectionately. Steve, with his enhanced appetite, tended to keep an eye on Peter’s own plate: it seemed like he was still worried that Peter wasn’t going to eat enough. He seemed to worry that Peter was too shy to ask for what he needed. Well, he’d gotten over that, Peter thought with a chuckle. 

“Pete,” Steve smiled brightly as Peter entered the kitchen. “Just in time. Dinner’s ready.”

“Wow, this looks great,” Peter enthused, staring at the table, heavy with all the food Steve had prepared. Not quite as much as usual, maybe, but it would probably still be enough to go around. “Should we wait for everybody else to get here?”

“Oh, it’s just us tonight,” Steve answered flippantly, handing Peter a plate as the teen blinked. He grinned broadly, looking somewhat smug. “Eat up.”

Peter’s fingers ran though his hair as he stared critically at it. Clean, he thought, examining the strands as if he expected them to be lank and greasy again, as they once had been. Clean and shiny and fluffy. He smiled a little, letting his hand drop. Clint, more than any of the others, had somehow become an accountability buddy. They kept each other from slacking off on taking care of themselves when things got bad. On Peter’s bad days, when he was lying on the couch buried under the six feet of soil his depression was imposing upon him, Clint would appear unprompted. 

“You showered today, kid?” Clint didn’t cross his arms, he didn’t frown, he didn’t even look at Peter. He just sat down at the other end of the sofa Peter was slumped down on.

“No,” Peter answered. He felt like he could barely move.

“How about yesterday?”

“No.”

“You’ll feel better if you do.”

“I know.”

“Alright,” Clint nodded, standing back up. He crossed the space between them and held out a hand, meeting Peter’s eyes, now. “Get up.”

Peter took his hand with a defeated sigh.

Peter got out of the shower, clean and all the more relieved for it. It didn’t feel good, becoming so worn down that he couldn’t even shower without an outside push. He was so grateful to have someone who understood.

Peter got dressed, eyeing his spider suit contemplatively for a few minutes before deciding not to go out right now. The others would be awake already, and probably getting together for breakfast before much longer. It was still early, he reminded himself. There would be plenty of time for patrolling later in the day. He could go downstairs in a while, he decided, and actually give Tony a reason to pay him. He was getting close to finishing up a couple of his projects, he remembered with delight. Tony was sure to be pleased.

“This,” Tony had announced, turning to face Peter, arms spread wide in demonstration. “Is your lab.” Peter had stared around with amazement, absolutely dumbstruck by the space. It was on the R&D floor, separated from other similar labs by glass walls that allowed him to see other scientists working all the way down to the elevator. There were a few people watching them with interest.

“It’s amazing,” Peter breathed, hands itching as he eyed the equipment he’d been provided with. “Thank you, Tony.”

“I have full faith in you, Peter,” Tony had assured him, looking proud already. “I know you’ll do amazing things, here.”

Peter stepped into the hall outside his bedroom. “Good morning, JARVIS,” He shot a smile up towards where one of the cameras was situated as he walked. The floor was quiet and empty around him.

“Good morning, sir,” JARVIS’s kind, familiar voice came from the speakers subtly hidden around him. “How are you doing today?”

“Great, I’m great,” Peter replied. He was still hurting a little from his breakdown from earlier, but it was getting better. Peter was getting better.

“I’m happy to hear that, sir. Where would you like to go, today?”

“Communal floor, please,” The elevator opened for him, and Peter stepped inside. “Is anyone else around yet?”

“Mr. Stark, Cap. Rogers, Lt. Barnes, Dr. Banner, Ms. Romanoff, and Mr. Barton have all arrived for breakfast,” JARVIS informed him, and Peter’s heart lifted.

“Wow, just about everybody, huh? That’s awesome.” The elevator doors slid shut, but it didn’t block out the sound of rolling thunder, loud enough to rumble the floor under Peter’s feet.

“Thor has just arrived, as well.” Peter beamed, thrilled, and lifted his eyes to watch the floor numbers tick by as the elevator slid into motion.

“Young Parker,” Thor’s voice was serious, his narrowed gaze firmly on Peter’s. It was intimidating, Peter admitted, but he didn’t let himself grimace. No backing down. “You know not who you challenge. I am the son of Odin, Asgardian royalty. I have lived for thousands of your years and seen more than you could possibly imagine. I’ve held grudges that last longer than your entire family line has existed. Do you understand what you’re doing? Do you understand who it is you stand to make an enemy of?”

“Sorry,” Peter answered in a sing-song, tossing the draw-four card down on top of the stack, ignoring the god’s cry of rage as the other Avengers around him laughed.

Thor had found more and more reasons to visit over the past year and a half or so, and Peter was always happy to have him around. He made any situation more fun with his strange Asgardian customs and outsider viewpoint. He wasn’t around as much as Peter would like, but he could hardly blame the guy. It was kind of a hefty commute.

The elevator doors opened and Natasha’s voice was the first thing to hit him. Yelling at Clint, by the sound of it. The range of emotion she’d slowly started to let slip around him was startling at first, he reflected, but as he got used to it, it seemed so natural he could barely reconcile the way he saw her now with how he used to. He remembered how she’d been the first few months he’d started coming around the tower. Cold, suspicious, distressingly… distant. Now, though…

Natasha’s hair, dark brown now, was pulled up on top of her head in a messy bun so unlike anything he’d seen her wear before that he almost didn’t recognize her for a moment. She noticed the blank look on his face before he managed to remove it, of course.

“Hey, Nat,” Peter smiled as she patted the seat next to her. “Having a lazy day?”

“Even the Black Widow takes a day off every now and then,” She remarked, her voice a murmur. She slung an arm around his shoulders as he sat, her feet propped up, crossed at the ankles on the coffee table in front of them. “Care to join? I’m catching up on Game of Thrones.”

“I didn’t know super spies watched HBO,” Peter snickered, and Natasha smiled at him, looking so genuinely relaxed that he thought she might actually be feeling that way.

“I spend a lot of time waiting around in hotels,” Natasha reminded him, ruffling his hair. “I watch a lot of HBO.” They laughed together and Peter let her tuck him against her side, their heads leaned together.

As Peter left the elevator, he sucked in a deep breath and the scent of breakfast washed over him.

Hundreds of mornings spent with his new family, hundreds of meals spent around the table, hundreds of hours with the people who proved to him, with everything they did, that they loved him.

He missed Aunt May, he thought, eyes prickling again as his breath caught in his chest. He missed Uncle Ben. He missed Gwen. 

But his family now— they were here. They weren’t going anywhere.

Peter stood in silence, breathing in the warm, comforting smell of eggs. He could smell sharp sausage and the broad, encompassing scent of bacon. There was a tang in the air that spoke of citrus, but then a sweeter undertone of the fruit Bruce liked to have in the morning. The buttered toast and the cloying sugary smell that announced Bucky’s favorite waffles.

Peter closed his eyes, breathing in the smell of home. This was what his life was, now, Peter thought, anxiety slowly easing in his chest. This was his family.

Peter opened his eyes and walked into the kitchen with a bright smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so that's the end of this one!
> 
> Current WIPS:  
> Everyone He Knows- A Bucky-centric fic where the Avengers save the Winter Soldier from Hydra and in their company, he learns to be a person again.
> 
> Love, At First- A Spideypool fic where Deadpool falls in love with Spider-Man at first assassination attempt.
> 
> I'm looking for betas for these! I'll be mentioning that in the upcoming updates for those, but I wanted to throw the word out here too because if I don't get one soon, chapters are gonna start going up unedited, haha. Not the end of the world, but not ideal.
> 
> Anyways, hmu if you're interested!


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